


The last years of Sherlock Holmes

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 19:40:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8222561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sherlock struggles with his memory is the last years of his life.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Logged into an old Livejournal of mine for the first time in ages and found this old piece rattling around and decided to post it. I'd wanted to write a series of snap-shots eg John gets sick, mycrofts funeral or even Johns funeral, if anyone one else wants to go ahead as I'll probably never get around to it so consider this up for graps.

Sherlock’ first thought when he woke up was he didn’t know where he was. The room was unfamilar, the room, the view from the window. It all had a very cottagey feel with an extensive garden. He paused for a moment as he took in his hands. It took a moment for him to be sure that they were his hands. Knobby, with wrinkled skin and with spots, they were old man hands. His arms and when he checked, his legs and feet told the same story.  
Mirror, he needed a mirror. He gaze set upon the sidetable. There he saw a hand mirror, upside down obvious waiting. This had happened before. Sitting just beside it was a wedding ring. Slightly astonished, he picked it up and studied the inscription.  
Sherlock Holmes + John Watson 2011  
Well that gave him an additional 3 years to when he thought he actually was and he was married? To a man apparently. While the inside of the ring was shiny, considering the fact it was most likely taken off every night that was easily explained, otherwise the ring was in good condition, it fitted when he put it on. Unfortunately he didn’t know enough about what the future trends of jewlery might be to guess at how old it was, though it had enough scratches and marks to suggest it was a number of years old even if it had being routinely polished and cleaned. Admiring the gold for a moment he returned his attention to the hand mirror, picking it up he took a deep breath and lifted it to see his face.  
Oh. Yes that was him, same grey eyes, same cheekbones, same blade of a nose. His hair had gone white and the curls had being tamed to wavy. A little thin at the back and on top but he still had most of his hair. He had far more laugh lines around his eyes and his mouth then he ever expected. The fact he still had the ring suggested a happy marriage, that it still meant something even if he had no memory of it.  
There was a knock on the door before it opened and an older man entered. “Sherlock?” The man looked slightly expectant. There was something about his stance, those still sharp brown eyes and even his short crop of hair that suggested ex-soldier.  
“John?” He guessed, he was rewarded by a warm, welcoming smile.  
“Morning Sherlock.” John shuffled in, obviously favouring one leg as he brought over a cup of tea.  
“How old am I?” Sherlock asked.  
“83.”  
“Oh.” For some reason he never expected to reach such as age, he never expected to reach old age at all really. “The memory?”  
“Diagnosed formally about five years ago.” John handed him the tea, it was made perfectly. “Not that I hadn’t realised well before then.”  
Sherlock frowned, there was something about the way John said that. “You were a doctor, an army doctor even at one stage.”  
John smiled and nodded.  
“I have to admit, your skills in deduction does make this whole thing a lot easier. Come on, up you get. I have breakfast ready and no, you don’t have any excuse to not eat.” John rose and opened a closet, pulling out a large robe and placing it on a chair. “If you’re not out in ten, I’ll come check on you.”  
Sherlock reached and took his hand, he may not remember John or their many years of marriage but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate what it might be like for John. “Thank you.”  
Johns face lit up and surprised Sherlock by leaning forward to briskly kiss his forehead.  
“You’ve being worth every moment of it mate.”  
It took a few moment after John left before he’d processed his shock enough to get up and pull on the robe. His joints ached and a hefty bruise of his left knee was still sore, he had scars which pulled that he didn’t remember getting but all in all, he considered he didn’t seem to be in all to bad a shape, for his age.  
Wondering out his room, he spotted John cooking something in the kitchen but his attention was diverted by a row of photos. They all had labels on them, obviousy to assit him. For instance the first one was listed John and Harry 2008. John was in army uniform and given the similarities between John and Harry, Harry was obviously an older sister. She also had the early symptoms of chronic alcoholism. This would be before he and John met most likely. Next was listed as He and John 2009. They were both in a hospital, John was injured and he was perched on a vistor chair also bandaged but Sherlock knew himself well enough to see the air of concern and worry as he looked at John as well as the bored frustration and irritation he generally has when stuck in a hospital. Given the angle, picture quality and Sherlocks own relaxed countance he’s almost sure Mycroft and his bloody surveillance cameras has something to do with it.  
Then there was the obvious wedding photo, 2010. There was Mycroft, Harry, John and himself and a few others. Others listed as Lestrange, Sarah, Clara, Mary, Mrs Hudson. He frowned, He remembered Lestrange, sort of and Mrs Hudson. Oh, Mary, yes he remembered Mary.  
“Sarah, Clara?” He asked.”  
“Clara is Harry’s Ex-wife and Sarah was my girlfriend for awhile.  
“Ah.”  
He looked at the next photo and nearly gagged.  
“Mycroft married Mary?”  
“Yes Sherlock and Sarah married Lestrange and Clara met Donavan, do you remember her?”  
“No, no, oh yes. She grew up in an abusive home, had self esteem issues, as well as an inability to allow others become emotionally close to her, thus tended to be verbally defensive and only got involved sexually with others who were emotionally unavailable.” He refrained from adding Clara had come out of an abusive relationship with Johns sister. He wasn’t sure why but he thought it likely John knew anyway.  
“You would remember her like that.”  
“Would? Is she dead then?”  
John sighed, a very telling, painful sort of sigh.  
“Yes Sherlock.”  
“You miss her.”  
“Clara was the best thing that happened to her and vice versa. Donavan was pregnant when they met. Completely unexpected and changed her for the better.”  
“Didn’t want to resemble her own parents in any way and underwent intensive theory to help deal with unresolved issues, Clara probably recommended the one she saw, a few exchanges in the waiting room led to dates and then more.” Sherlock deduced. “How am I doing?”  
“Pretty well. Not long after that we became uncles. Adopted uncles and even an Uncle by default.”  
“Because you still consider Clara your sister in law even though she and Harry divorced because you like Clara and Harry…”  
“Yes well, in same ways Clara is more of my sister then Harry had ever being.” John grimaced.  
“Liver or kidney?” Sherlock asked absently.  
“Blood clot in the brain.”  
Sherlock paused. “I’m sorry.” He offered a bit uncertainly. John had a resigned smile on his face.  
“You don’t remember and its old history for me, its all right Sherlock, really.”  
Sherlock managed a slight smile in return. He moved on to more storys. He had a nephew called Frances and a niece called Jaquiline. Sarah and Lestrange had three girls, Molly, Mandy and Mia which was frankly scary. Donavon had a son named John Sherlock, which felt strange in a good sort of way and yes next was a photo of a headstone for Harry. The children grew, he and John grew older, the children got married, had children of their own. Lestrange was the first to die, then Mary, then Donavan and Clara together, probably a car crash. One of the children, and one of a baby that had died within weeks of birth and one of Mycrofts grandchildren receiving an award for something. There was countless of photos really and so many of him and John, getting older, being a part of a larger ‘family’ network Something Sherlock didn’t think he’d ever have and to have had it, to not remember. To remember all those years mostly, alone, isolated… John had done this, somehow. Somehow he’d done the right thing, somehow John had entered his life and in turn given him a life he’d never imagined and though he couldn’t remember it, he felt grateful and humble and a bit it awe.   
He looked at the ring he still held in one hand and carefully slipped it on. Why John married him, how John came into his life, what sort of life they’d had between photos he had no real idea but the photos told him enough. Johns face fond as it smiled at him, his own face had an unfamiliar warmth in it as he looked at John, the warmth, the love and acceptance of the family, the family partly built and made and partly of blood surrounding them.  
“Breakfast Sherlock.” He wanted to say he wasn’t hungry but even the plate John put down spoke of long familiarity. There was quite simply a bit of everything. One sausage, one mushroom, one tomato, one egg, one bacon, one pancake, there was even a muffin and a bit of muesli, with yogurt. On the table was a fruit bowl. He could pick and choose whatever he wanted or even take a bit of everything and he just knew whatever he didn’t eat John would. Sherlock didn’t remember loving John but he rather thought he loved John now, just for that.  
“You are amazing.”  
John actually blushed.


End file.
